


The Life and Times of Bruce Wayne, An Engaged Man

by ScarletDeva



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF!Alfred, Back to the beginning, Batman is ridiculous, Bikinis, Bruce likes to make things complicated, Crack, Denial, Even Batman is still a man, F/M, Gen, Just your typical man things, ORCHIDS!, Selina is a cat, She likes to scent mark things, So much denial, he likes it better that way, he only pretends not to get it, so much tag abuse, sparkly things, this is how Bruce rolls, weird Gotham love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletDeva/pseuds/ScarletDeva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In that imaginary future, Catwoman wears purple, Babs is still Oracle and Selina and Bruce are engaged. Alfred approves. But while Gotham After Dark is cared for, the wedding is planned and Selina has scones, the happy couple has neglected to book a honeymoon. And that, that, Alfred will fix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vacation is NOT a Bat Word

**Author's Note:**

> The original idea for this story was born ages and ages ago. If I am not mistaken, it was TK Styles who originally pitched it to me. And I totally started it. But then... didn't finish it. And it sat and sat in my files making lonely mewing noises. Yesterday I finally had the spark to get it done. Selina's voice kind of came to me. 
> 
> Thanks to my hubby for reading this before it went to the presses and confirming that even Batman is still a man.

Selina Kyle was drowning in paperwork.

This wasn’t a particularly unusual state of affairs, although the paperwork itself had nothing in common with her normal art authentication documents, shipping forms and other business things. Oh no. This was paperwork of the scariest kind.

Wedding paperwork.

She huffed as she reviewed the florist contract, scribbling notations next to the delivery terms, and then heard a tray slide in next to her elbow.

“Thank you, Alfred,” she said and looked up with a smile, which quickly turned into a frown as he extricated what looked like even more paperwork out of his jacket pocket.

“My pleasure, Miss Selina. Now, there is one aspect of wedding arrangements that has been sorely neglected and I took the liberty of providing some assistance,” he said and offered her the packets.

She peered at him suspiciously as she took them and unfolded them to discover several travel brochures. Then she blinked. “What is this for?”

“I do believe it is traditional after the wedding festivities for the new bride and groom to depart on a relaxing journey,” he said.

“A honeymoon? Alfred… you’ve met Bruce, right?” Selina scoffed, even as she eyed the vividly colored pictures of Tahiti at dusk.

“It is traditional, Miss Selina,” he repeated.

A small, champagne-colored feline wound between Alfred’s feet and then jumped into Selina’s lap. She absently scratched behind Mercy’s left ear and took another look at Tahiti. “It would be nice.”

“Master Dick has agreed to perform Master Bruce’s evening obligations for the duration,” Alfred added.

Selina quirked a brow. Then she set the other brochures aside and unfolded the Tahiti resort one completely. “Does Bruce even own swimming trunks?” 

This was clearly a Bat family conspiracy if she had ever seen one and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to make Alfred happy. Especially since when Alfred was happy, she got her favorite strawberry white chocolate scones for breakfast. And Catwoman had to look out for her interests.

“I took the liberty of purchasing several pairs last week,” he replied.

She ran a finger over the photo of the king size, canopied bed and thought for a moment. “Four?”

“Indeed, Miss Selina.”

She rubbed Mercy’s belly as the cat rolled over in her lap and shrugged. “You’ve convinced me.” She stacked the paperwork neatly, hid the brochures in the desk drawer and set the feline down on the rug. “I’m going shopping.”

“Very well, miss.”

And she could have sworn Alfred’s perfectly proper English exterior cracked just a touch with what was almost a twinkle in his eye.

Oh well.

She had bikinis to buy.

~*~

Bruce put the Lamborghini in park and hopped out. The door between the garage and the rest of the house was already open and Alfred was waiting with a tray, a sandwich on one side and paperwork on the other.

“Thanks, Alfred,” he said, managing the stack of papers with one hand as the other brought the roast beef with grain mustard on rye to his mouth. He was reasonably certain that he would have starved to death by now if not for Alfred. “Is Selina home?”

“No, Master Bruce. She departed at three o’clock for a shopping outing. She also requested I provide you with an update on the wedding arrangements.”

Bruce grimaced.

“The florist arrangements are finalized. There is a list of the musical groups on your desk that you are to review. I do believe she herself is partial to numbers three and seven. The invitation options are on your desk as well and Miss Selina is displeased with the designer’s inability to understand her preferences on the matter.”

“More cats?” Bruce asked.

“Indeed, sir. I do believe she intends to fire him. She mentioned introducing the man to some rather large specimens of the feline kind if he is so fond of the species,” Alfred said.

“Hm. I’ll warn the zoo.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Anything else?”

“The tuxedo fittings are tomorrow. Master Dick telephoned. He will join you here for breakfast so you may discuss how he can best take over your evening obligations for five nights after the wedding before you adjourn for the fittings. I hope Eggs Benedict will be satisfactory to both of you.”

“Eggs Benedict would be… wait…”

“If they aren’t to your liking, I do believe Master Dick is fond of my buttermilk waffles.”

“Alfred!”

“Yes, sir? Are waffles not to your liking as well?”

“Alfred, what is this about Dick taking over for five evenings after the wedding?” Bruce’s forehead wrinkled as he frowned.

“I do believe it is traditional for the new bride and groom to depart on a relaxing journey after the wedding. Although a week is certainly preferable, four days should be sufficient to satisfy that requirement.”

“Alfred, Batman can’t leave Gotham for four days!”

“Certainly not, sir. Master Dick shall prevent that admirably.”

“I can’t leave Gotham!”

“Friends and family will wonder if Bruce Wayne does not depart for a honeymoon,” Alfred pointed out.

“Yes, which is why the Wayne jet would take off for Aruba and Selina and I would stay in during the day.”

“Hm.”

“Selina knows better than to expect me to take time off,” Bruce countered, knowing exactly what that non-committal sound was.

“Hm.”

“She does.”

“If you say so, Master Bruce,” Alfred said agreeably. “Is baked salmon with steamed asparagus acceptable for dinner this evening?”

Selina’s favorite comfort food.

Bruce grunted.

Selina knew he couldn’t leave Gotham.

Right?

~*~

Two hours later, the woman who worried his mind whirled through his office door with three giant shopping bags, her riotous curls swinging about her shoulders.

“Hey Handsome, want to see what I bought?” she asked with a grin. She didn’t wait for his reply and dropped the bags on the rug then withdrew… string? Shiny blue string? With… wait. There were small bits of cloth attached to the string. “Or would you rather see it on me?” she added, her mouth tipping into naughty.

“Selina, what is that?”

She blinked. “Bruce, I know relaxation isn’t in your top ten activities but even you must recognize a bikini.” She bent down, her blouse dipping to expose just a hint of her lacy burgundy bra, and rifled through one of the bags. “And unless you want me swimming naked, which is certainly a different kind of option, I need swimwear.”

His mind jammed on an image of Selina, with that same wicked grin, water streaming in rivulets down her skin, between her breasts, glinting down her stomach… wait. “Swimming?”

“Well since the Batlings just chipped in for four days in Tahiti’s most exclusive resort, I would think that pretty much determines our honeymoon plans, don’t you?” she asked as she smoothed that tiny piece of fabric over her breast. “What do you think?”

“Selina…”

“I know I don’t normally wear blue,” she said thoughtfully as if he hadn’t even spoken, stroking the edge of the shiny fabric stretched over her blouse with an elegant finger, “but I thought I’d try something different.” She let the bikini top drop from her body, twirling the string gently in her hand. “Sometimes,” she said lightly, looking at him from under sooty lashes, “it’s nice to try something different.”

Bruce swallowed. “Selina.”

She bundled the blue suit back in the bag and drew out a dark red one-piece that had barely any more fabric than the bikini. “I thought I’d book us for horseback riding and maybe some of the motorized water sports.”

“Selina,” he began again but now he was talking to her back as she slung the bathingsuit over her shoulder and headed for the entryway.

“I’m going to go try this one out in the Jacuzzi,” she said, her voice husky, and winked before she shut the door behind herself.

Bruce pursed his lips and eyed the clearly full bags, the blue bikini just peeking over the edge of the rightmost one. Batman was the most disciplined man in the world, feared by criminals, respected by other superheroes, worshiped by his protégés. But he was still a man. And so he gently pushed aside that blue suit and slowly reached into the bag.

~*~

Alfred set down the tray with cut up, chilled fruit next to the Jacuzzi in which the mistress of the house lounged. Miss Selina’s hair was bound up above her head, stray curls escaping to frame her face which sported the smallest of smiles. The ruffled straps of a scarlet bathing suit hugged the tops of her shoulders, the rest of her submerged in the bubbling water. While Alfred was no more than glancingly familiar with women’s fashion, he tended to thoroughly approve of Miss Selina’s style. Today was no exception. In fact, he thoroughly approved of Miss Selina’s style in things other than fashion. And, again, today was no exception to that either.

“Thank you, Alfred,” she said. “Don’t worry, I won’t miss dinner.”

“I was not concerned in the slightest, Miss Selina,” he responded evenly.

She smiled and picked up a slice of watermelon. “Well you know I would never disappoint you.”

“Quite right, miss,” he agreed and left her to her own devises, returning to the butler’s pantry. He sat down at his desk, the household accounts still lying open, but reached instead for the telephone.

“Dick Grayson speaking,” his second oldest charge’s voice answered his call.

“Master Dick,” Alfred greeted him.

“Alfred!”

Although Alfred was never a betting man, he could not help but consider that Master Dick’s excitement perhaps owed something to the battle of wits currently unfolding in Wayne Manor.

“Perhaps, young master,” Alfred suggested, “tomorrow morning, it would be beneficial for you to provide Master Bruce with an accounting of your plans for taking over his evening obligations. Perhaps in written form.”

Master Dick chortled. “You and Selina are breaking him down, huh? Never thought I’d see the day.” And indeed his tone was a trifle disbelieving.  
“It is my hope that Miss Selina, with your able assistance, can persuade Master Bruce that a small rest could be beneficial,” he responded in a faintly reapproving tone.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Master Dick said, sounding much the same as he used to as a school boy when he apologized for misbehaving in class. “I’ll get it all written up for tomorrow. But…”

“Yes, Master Dick?”

“Do you think we could have waffles for breakfast? If I have to face Bruce’s disapproval, it goes down much better with maple syrup.”

Alfred nodded, although Master Dick certainly couldn’t see him. “Very good, young master.”

“Great! See you tomorrow!”

And when Alfred hung up his old-fashioned telephone handle, he nearly smiled.

~*~

Tim was early for the fittings. That wasn’t an accident. He had been up late helping Dick with the plans for the honeymoon patrols over Oracle’s secure vid-channel and then woke up too late to actually have breakfast at home. Knowing Alfred, there would be something he could grab before the fittings started. But besides, he really didn’t want to miss any potential fireworks.

Selina’s personalized Maserati wasn’t in the garage when he pulled in but Dick’s blue Toyota Corolla was in its spot. Well, at least Bruce hadn’t thrown Dick out of the house yet in a fit of self-righteous Bat-rage.

Tim crept through the kitchen, grabbing a blueberry scone – staying far far away from Selina’s favorite strawberry white chocolate ones - which he promptly crammed in his mouth, and quietly made his way to the morning room where he knew Bruce and Dick would be breakfasting. And hopefully not killing each other.

He had money riding on it.

Cassie was sure that they wouldn’t be able to convince Bruce but Tim… well… Tim bet on Selina. And on Alfred. He always bet on Alfred. They asked Babs if she had an opinion but she just laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And then demanded that Tim report back after the fittings. 

“Perhaps you would opt for more substantial sustenance, Master Tim,” Alfred said right behind him.

There were days Tim was pretty sure that Alfred was actually the most Bat-worthy member of the clan. And then there were days when he was totally sure. Today was obviously the latter. Still, he would have voluntarily signed himself up for Bruce’s extra special training if he jumped so he held it together as he turned around. “Hey, Alfred. No, the scone is good for now,” he said.

“Very good, young master,” Alfred agreed. He brandished stapled packets of what looked like the plan Dick came up with last night but… covered all over with Bruce’s spiky handwriting. “In that case, perhaps you could deliver these to the morning room.”

“Uh sure,” Tim agreed and grinned. “Guess I better block out those four nights, huh?”

“Indeed, Master Tim.”

When Tim walked into the morning room, Bruce was bent over napkin, scribbling notes on what looked like a quick draft of the Gotham Stock Exchange floor plan while Dick shoveled the mutilated remains of a chocolate chip waffle into his mouth. Bruce acknowledged Tim with a grunt and Dick shoved a clean plate towards him and gestured to the table, dark blue eyes twinkling.

Tim shrugged, put down the papers and snagged a waffle.

It was going to be a busy couple of months until the wedding.

~*~

Selina popped into the butler’s pantry on her way upstairs. A towel was slung around her shoulders and she was still wearing a fitted tee and exercise pants, although she kicked off her sneakers at the door.

“Hi, Alfred,” she said as she stuck her head inside.

“Good afternoon, Miss Selina,” he said agreeably, working on his own stack of papers.

“Is everyone done with the tuxedo fittings?” she asked, leaning against the door jam.

“Indeed, Miss Selina,” he confirmed. “The young masters are having a repast in the kitchen if you care for any refreshments.”

Selina quirked a dark brow. “I’ll wait for lunch.” She paused thoughtfully. “How did breakfast go?”

“I believe it was a resounding success,” Alfred said and again she thought she caught the barest edge of a smile in his dark eyes.

She caught a curl and wound it around her finger as her lips curved into a grin. “I guess I’d better go console Bruce.”

“Indeed, Miss Kyle,” he agreed. “Master Bruce is downstairs.”

Selina hummed to herself as she made her way down the steps into the Bat Cave. Only Batman would need to be consoled because he agreed to go on a honeymoon trip. But then it was his little idiosyncrasies that made him so cheek-pinchingly adorable. And she didn’t mean the ones on his face.

And wasn’t it just too bad, she thought as she looked at the back of his head visible over the top of his favorite chair, that he would now expect to keep those cute cheeks working day and night until the wedding just to make up for what he was sure to perceive as his grand laxity for the four days after.

Well… Selina decided as she dug her fingers into his thick hair, tweaking all his expectations was one of her little idiosyncrasies. And wasn’t that just too bad for him.

As she laughed throatily at Bruce’s annoyed grunt, one hand snaking inside his collared shirt, she thought Alfred would definitely approve.


	2. The War of the Orchids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But the course of true love has never run smooth. Especially when your true love is Batman.
> 
> What was that about the course of true love and Batman? Oh yes. That.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a million to my darling Ms. J who provided invaluable beta services.

Batman stepped out of his car and inhaled deeply, his shoulders loosening and slumping as the security system re-engaged with a soft hum. And then his eyes narrowed beneath his cowl.

Wait.

Something was wrong.

He cast a careful eye around the expanse of the cave. A covered dinner plate was at his work station. The mess Tim had made earlier in the southwest corner, tinkering with a project he was extremely secretive about, was neatened up. The training area was set back to rights, having seen heavy use by Cassie while he was out on patrol. The lights were off where they should be off.

Wait.

The northmost corner of the cave held a dozen, six foot tall, circular specimen displays. Four were dark and empty. Seven were properly lit. And one.

One.

One was missing the glass enclosure, the light fixture clearly having been replaced, and there was a painted clay pot with a budding orchid - a powerfully citrus scented rhynchostilis gygantea - set right smack in the center of the metal display plate.

His lip furled.

That impossible woman.

Prior to their engagement, after their endless stage of “will they won't they” (as Dick called it, usually behind Bruce's back but sometimes right to his face), and during their equally endless stage of “off and on and off and on”, Selina had never spent the night at Wayne Manor. She had come for breakfast, stayed for dinner, stopped by for a movie and Alfred's scones, but she always, always left when he went on patrol – sometimes going with him.

It was he who tended to crash at her place after after a long night of taking out crooks, chasing down Arkham escapees and occasionally conferring with the Commissioner.

Her place was a renovated, two bedroom condominium in Chelsea, near the art galleries (a terrible terrible place to allow Catwoman to live), in a one hundred year old building. The condo was nothing he expected and yet everything he expected. It was a mixture of all the most modern finishes and carefully selected antiques, all black and white softened by dark woods and splashes of merlot accessories. There was only one cat – Mercy. And far more plant-life than he would think anyone acquainted with Poison Ivy would ever want around – a shelf of herbs in the kitchen, a pot of golden pothos that Selina trained across the living room entryway, a couple of diffenbachias next to the living room windows, and orchids.

There were orchids in every room.

And three in the bedroom. A brassavola nodosa (because it made Selina giggle to have a plant called Lady of the Night), and two zygopetalum.

The scent that filled Selina's inner sanctum was floral, pervasive. It wasn't delicate nor was it cloying but it settled in, permeated her cotton bedsheets and fuzzy blankets, seeped into the dark cloud of her hair. 

He would wrap an arm over her midsection, the covers tucked in around them, and her unbound locks would nestle against his cheek, silky soft. And his muscles would loosen, his joints unlock, and he'd descend into sleep.

He asked her once, on a late, sleepy morning, why the orchids, and she laughed, saying “You're the world's greatest detective. You figure it out.” He may have done some reading after that. Her other houseplants were easy to keep, hard to ruin, but the orchids, the orchids needed what they needed and wouldn't thrive otherwise. He thought maybe she related to that, and then he thought that maybe she just liked them. 

It was months later that they got engaged, the setting from his grandmother's ring reworked with a two karat, conflict-free, emerald-cut diamond flanked by shards of sapphires and aquamarines and a story that he had forbidden the kids from sharing with the League or any of its junior groups, and Selina officially moved in.

It wasn't very long before he started noticing signs of her presence outside of their bedroom. New, striped green pillows appeared on the den couches. The small parlor room facing into the back of the estate sported a desk with the latest Wayne Tech PC and one of her black cashmere cardigans now hung on the chair. The setup in the above ground gym shifted to accommodate her aquamarine yoga mat.

He knew that, at some point, she had to have discussed it with Alfred. No one redecorated the Manor without having discussed it with Alfred. But he never caught her at it.

And then the orchids started appearing.

First it was the three in their bedroom, and suddenly his insomnia, a recurrent torment, was gone. Then it was the neostylis lou sneary in the small dining room. And two phalaenopsis bellina in the den. 

And the very small cattleya walkeriana in the kitchen.

That one he side-eyed because it definitely could never have made it there (and stayed) without Alfred's approval.

Still, she was happy, the house smelled nice and Alfred was baking more – which meant everyone had to work on their training more but that wasn't a bad thing. So, what was the harm?

It wasn't until an aerenthes grandalena appeared on his own desk one morning that Bruce drew the line.

There wasn't any point in saying anything to Selina. This was clearly her way of marking her territory. There wasn't any more of a point in saying something to Alfred. As soon as Selina moved in, the older man took to actually humming under his breath when he cleaned (Bruce thought he recognized the snippets of the tune from Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty).

But an orchid in his office was just a step too far – no matter how pleasant the jasmine-like scent was. He gave it a shot, all of five minutes, as he tried to go over the quarterly report from Lucius, and found himself thinking about their brunch plans for that Sunday instead, his shoulders loose as he leaned back against his seat.

So he had picked up the burnished copper pot, narrowed his eyes at it as if it could quiver back in fear like the denizens of Gotham After Dark (an expression that was unfortunately witnessed by a clearly unimpressed Mercy who flicked her tail and paraded out of the room), and then relocated it into Dick's room. Dick hadn't lived at home for a couple of years now but he stayed over frequently enough. He thought it might be a nice gesture.

However, Selina did not agree. Well not mostly.

The next day, a maxilleria tenuifolia appeared in Dick's room, exuding a coconut pie aroma, and the aerenthes grandalena was back on his desk.

Bruce frowned. Neither the orchid nor Mercy, who was obviously taking a perverse delight in the whole thing, seemed at all bothered. Mercy wound around his ankles and then hopped onto the bookcase to his left, curling up next to a biography of Teddy Roosevelt.

He didn't even try this time. He rehomed the orchid into Tim's room.

That did not satisfy Selina either.

Tim got a blooming oncidium sharry baby to his eternal delight because it smelled like chocolate.

And Bruce... Bruce found the aerenthes grandalena set on top of his stock printouts as if it belonged there.

He thought about trying Cassie's room but, if, there was anything that Batman understood, it was that, if a tactic wasn't working, then continuing to utilize it was not only madness but a waste of time and energy. So, instead, he took the direct route and left it decorating Selina's keyboard.

The result was orchids in all of the kids' rooms (the spicy vanilla of an oncidium twinkle fragrance fantasy in Jason's room, the lemony aroma of a cymbidium golden elf in Cassie's room, and a phalaenopsis violacea that Stephanie likened to snickerdoodles), presumably a miltoneopsis santanaei in Alfred's room (the man had a subtle hint of roses about him), and the bedamned aerenthes grandalena sitting in his ergonomic desk chair, Mercy sprawled right next to it.

Bruce had very carefully set Mercy down on the floor, getting a disgruntled hiss for his troubles, and hefted the pot, near bouncing it in his hand. Then he snuck it into the garden.

That had been yesterday.

And now there was a brassavola nodosa, a different Lady of the Night than in their bedroom, displayed where a work related specimen should be and the aerenthes grandalena was probably back in his office.

As bad as it was having an orchid in his office above ground, an orchid in his below ground office was several shades beyond the pale.

That impossible, improbable woman.

He bent down and picked up the flower pot. He hadn't gotten changed yet and there were hours of darkness left still. And he hadn't checked in with Oracle. No reason he couldn't do so in person.

He cast a quick, suspicious look around the cave, checking to see if Mercy had somehow wound her way down, and then got back into the Batmobile, buckling the flowers in the passenger seat.

Upstairs, in her office, Selina shut off the video feed to the cave and laughed, absently rubbing under Mercy's chin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman is cunning, brilliant and decisive. Too bad Bruce can't always be Batman. And when Selina is involved, all bets are off. But it will all work out. Sometimes the right answer just takes a little while to get to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire series is totally out of order. This is the beginning. The next part is going to be before the beginning. Or maybe a different beginning.

Martha Elise van Houten Wayne's engagement ring had lain in the main Wayne security deposit box at First Gotham Bank since her untimely death in a dark alley in front of her son's face. There was a plethora of other gems and jewels in that box, although her pearls were not one of them - the string broken and the luminescent beads shoved by Alfred into a plastic bag that was long forgotten in Thomas Wayne's desk. But nothing in that box really came close to the ring - an art deco, platinum band, circles and rectangles of metal set with round and square brilliants surrounding the main stone, a massive emerald cut diamond, all of the gems purchased by Erik van Houten in 1927 at an auction in Paris reportedly selling Romanoff family valuables and designed into one piece by Pierre Cartier himself.

Ingrid van Houten passed the ring to Thomas Wayne upon learning that he would be proposing to her eldest granddaughter and he vastly preferred it to purchasing something new, something without history or sentiment. So did Martha, who often rubbed the center stone absently. For her, it came through tragedy, that of the Romanoffs, that of the premature death of Martha's parents in a railway accident, and endured, carrying with it all of the love in the van Houten family - and then the Wayne family. 

For no reason at all, Bruce Wayne removed the ring from the deposit box when the grip of winter loosened on Gotham in late March, the air carrying a hint of warmth and the snow melting away to make room for frequent rain. Well, for a reason certainly. But he removed it and simply placed it in the safe in his office at Wayne Manor. For over two months.

It wasn't that he wasn't sure what Selina would say.

Their dance around each other for so very very long was not because they were not sure about each other - it was because they were not sure about themselves. That was not a conversation that they ever had but they knew it.

It was the ring.

The diamond, totally clear and sparkling in the light, was cold, reminding him of the proverbial ice that diamonds were often compared to. It had lived through those old tragedies for his mother, but it also lived through his tragedy - his loss of his parents. And it didn't seem affected.

It reminded him a little of the flash of fire in Selina's verdant eyes. But only a little.

He thought about emeralds, the trite comparison to Selina's eyes. But even less than a little.

And he thought about sapphires, the trite comparison to his own eyes. But almost not at all.

He never thought about rubies, the color of blood, or about amethysts, purple, the color of royalty and a color that Selina splashed about Wayne Manor almost but not quite carelessly.

He considered replacing the center stone, wandered though the Diamond District down 47th Street, looked into windows and never went in the shops. He stopped at Harry Winston and in the Tiffany flagship store on Fifth Avenue but didn't go through either door. It was by chance, somehow ending up on foot in the West Village on Christopher Street on his way to meet Dick for dinner at his favorite hole in the wall, that he finally saw it in the window.

The ring was strange, boxy and indelicate, nothing at all of Selina but the center stone was bright and warm, the color of the Caribbean waters, her green and his blue all in one shade. He didn't buy the ring but he did come away with the name of the stone - Paraiba tourmaline, a rare but semi-precious gemstone.

It took six days to find the perfect stone, clear and emerald cut, pricier per karat than most diamonds, and only one day to get it set - the Cartier store on Fifth Avenue no less eager to help Bruce Wayne than it was once to help Erik van Houten with the very same band.

It took no time at all after Cartier sent a secured delivery boy with the ring to Wayne Tech headquarters for Bruce to take the rest of the day off.

There was no fancy proposal, no sky writing, no extravagant trip overseas, although Selina shot him half-knowing looks over the plain cheese pizza slices that they ate out of a takeout container sitting on a bench in Battery Park. Then he wiped his hands clean and simply pulled the ring box from his pocket and looked at her, looked at her without hiding, without Bruce "the social butterfly" Wayne's overly telling and false expressions, without Bruce "the CEO" Wayne's semi-absent preoccupation, and without Batman's walls. She smiled.

The ring fit perfectly.


	4. The World's Greatest Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go back to the very beginning now. This is how the masks come off.

Although Batman rightfully held the reputation of the World's Greatest Detective, it was actually Selina who finally discerned his identity. Bruce did not learn hers until she revealed it. But maybe he didn't want to know. Maybe he simply wanted to keep those rooftop encounters in the moment, the vivacious woman with an extravagant waterfall of dark hair in rich purple hugging her curves, green eyes sparkling as she never ever ever let him catch her but never quite got far away quickly enough to keep their meetings from happening.

Maybe.

What was undeniable was that one day, one evening, at another charity event, this one held by the Daughters of Gotham to benefit education initiatives in the inner city, a cause that Selina wholeheartedly supported, Selina noticed something.

It was a masquerade ball, each plate running three hundred dollars a piece, and everyone had a mask. Almost everyone. Bruce Wayne, the CEO of Wayne Tech, was sloppily drunk as he often was, swinging his mask by its ties over his index finger, his other arm wrapped around Minnie Du Pont, a woman twice his age, who was nonetheless giggling at his attentions. Selina did not often find herself in his company, his generally outlandish behavior and accompaniment of women who either couldn't or chose to pretend they couldn't string a coherent sentence together not a point of interest to her. Today, he had somehow made his way into a conversation she was having with Vincent Lau, a new board member at the Gotham Metropolitan Museum, who was as much an interesting a conversationalist as a great professional opportunity.

She suddenly couldn't recall what it was she said and couldn't recall why she had even noticed but Bruce had paused to listen, the beaming lopsided grip settling into the strangest expression - even, nearly no expression at all, except for the tiniest, asymmetrical tilt of his mouth.

Her eyes flitted from his mouth up his face and she could tell he noticed because he was once again laughing, making a joke she didn't quite catch but could tell was terrible by the tightening around Vincent's eyes though the man smiled politely. Minnie just continued to giggle.

It was nothing. It had to be nothing.

But she knew that tilt.

Three nights later, she saw that tilt - she thought she saw it - she couldn't be sure and didn't know if she wanted to be sure - but there was a rooftop, and there was a sack of gems, and there she was standing twenty feet away from the Dark Knight. She couldn't see his eyes, couldn't see his face, saw nothing but his mouth and a tiny asymmetrical tilt.

After that, she made it a point to watch Bruce Wayne, to attend events where she knew he'd be. She slid into groups where he held court, conversations inane and uninteresting, but she wasn't listening. She was watching. From up close. From across the room.

It took three months before she saw the tilt again.

That was when she asked him to dance. No, not asked him, maneuvered him into asking her, leaving him no choice but to ask, because what rich playboy could avoid asking Selina Kyle to the dance floor when her date for the night had to depart on an emergency (that she may or may not have manufactured), leaving her in that dress and those shoes and all by herself.

She didn't manage to get the tilt again while they danced and he held her alternatively much closer than the waltz demanded and much too far, with arms that didn't shake even a bit but corded muscles that flexed under the pristine black tuxedo. No, she didn't manage to get the tilt.

But she didn't have to.


End file.
